


Ain't No Telling Who You'll Meet

by dedougal



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, Teen Wolf Reverse Bang
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-07
Updated: 2013-01-07
Packaged: 2017-11-24 02:07:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/629126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dedougal/pseuds/dedougal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What is Stiles's life when he's the only one left to clean Derek's car? Golden. That's what it is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ain't No Telling Who You'll Meet

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for the Teen Wolf Reverse Bang and inspired by [setsurixue's beautiful art](http://setsuri.tumblr.com/image/40009551982). Hope you enjoy. Thanks to triedunture for the amazing beta.

The fact that Derek’s car was covered in mud and grass was nothing to do with him. Not really. He had a Jeep that took a certain amount of off-roading in its stride. Derek drove a total poseur muscle car. It did not take too kindly to driving along roads that couldn’t even charitably be called tracks. And since it had gotten filthy in order to rescue Scott, there had been an amount of horse-trading over who was going to clean the car. It was supposed to be this pack bonding experience. And one by one the other betas had slunk out of it, claiming homework and family and, obviously, Allison. This was not a problem. Stiles had to think of this less as an unfair situation and more as a golden opportunity.

So maybe Stiles hadn’t argued as much as he could have when Scott gave him the eyes. He should have. The bro code did not extend to letting your friend run off to see his not-girlfriend at the movies and leaving one Stiles Stilinski to clean up the mess. But… okay, there were massive extenuating circumstances here.

Stiles had a plan. He had many plans, some of which even worked. This plan did not seem to be working so far. So it was time, therefore, to step the plan up a stage. This plan even had a name. Its original name had been Operation Get Stiles Laid but that seemed a little too on the nose, even for him. He’d gone through a phase of calling it Operation Make Derek React, but that had led mainly to a lot of growling and wall-slamming of the wrong kind. Now it was pure and simple: Operation Derek.

Yeah, it lacked imagination but Stiles was getting desperate.

 

He had to laugh as he got all the gear out of his trunk and hooked up the rusty old hose to the stand pipe at the side of Derek’s house. It was nice that Derek had accepted the need for basic utilities. Water. Electricity. A roof. In many ways, this was just like the start of some of the classic old-school porn he sometimes indulged in. Except he wasn’t a busty blonde in a tiny bikini top and Daisy Dukes. Nope. He was wearing cargo shorts and an old battered shirt whose color may have been green or blue at some point. He wasn’t going to slut it out. This was more about him being potentially alone with Derek to, you know, talk. And flirt. Or do what passed for flirting, which was mainly stare at Derek’s mouth and talk a lot about nothing.

Derek might also be shirtless. There was always that. The heat of summer seemed to make all the werewolves overheat or something, judging by the amount of naked skin on show. Sometimes the hope of that alone kept Stiles going through his daily drag of routine. The cut of Derek’s abs, the way his back had dimples that dipped below the waistband of his tight jeans. His general musculature. Which was ridiculous and totally unnecessary and played a starring role in many (all) of Stiles’s current masturbatory fantasies. Just as well werewolf powers did not include telepathy. Or that none of them had been attacked by secret mind-reading demons or something. It had happened on Buffy and since that was basically his life – only less with the slaying of supernatural creatures and more with the saving – he had to be on the look-out.

Derek came and stood on the porch, glared, and went back inside. The sound of hammering came from within. Renovating. Not helping Stiles with the car. Not being shirtless. Not available to stare at. Operation Get Into Derek’s Too-Tight Pants was not going to be progressing today, it seemed.

 

Of course the hose leaked. It was basically rust and rotten rubber. Naturally it sprayed freezing cold, mildly stale water all over his t-shirt. Stiles stared down at himself. The wet t-shirt competition was going to be a lock. He sighed.

Getting the mud off Derek’s car took a long time. The water seemed to pump out fitfully so sometimes Stiles would be soaked by a rush of water and other times he only had a trickle to point at the sun baked mess. He resorted to a bucket and sponge, layering on suds in an attempt to return the car to something like the glorious state it did deserve to be in. Stiles had not ridden in Derek’s car anywhere as much as Derek had hijacked the passenger seat in his Jeep. That should change. Derek should definitely give him rides to places in the comfortable leather seats that Stiles knew from experience hugged him just right. Derek should give him rides. Heh. Stiles drifted into a hazy fantasy of Derek and him and the leather seats as he scrubbed, his hands cold and pruney.

The next time he glanced up, Derek was on the porch. Watching him. Stiles hoped that there were no latent mind-reading powers awakening as Derek’s eyes seemed to bore into him, peeling back all his protective layers. It was bad enough that Stiles probably stank of sheer fucking arousal every time Derek was around. And that Derek could probably hear his heart beating triple time or something. Stiles made a face as he stood there dripping, suds slipping off his arms. He was basically a wreck. But Derek wasn’t laughing. He was just staring.

“It’ll be back to black as soon as possible,” he shouted. “Heh. Back to black.”

“Back in black,” Derek’s voice carried across the charged silence between them. Stiles shrugged a little angry and hurt before smearing the mud around some more. He had to lean across the hood, feeling his sodden t-shirt cling, to swipe at a spot of dirt up near the windscreen. Soap suds spurted from the sponge, sliding across his arms. He even got a little soap in his mouth. Stiles flung the sponge back into the bucket and looked at Derek, who now had his arms folded. He was still staring.

Stiles peeled off his shirt, fed up with the loose mass dragging him down. He would probably burn and develop skin cancer or something but he was done. He wasn’t even going to be embarrassed by his pale underdeveloped chest or the way his nipples were all pointy and shit. He was wet and cold. And wet. And it was cold water, straight from whatever underground source the tap was hooked up to. Derek didn’t have his arms folded any more. He also wasn’t on the porch any more.

He was, yup, _stalking_ towards Stiles.

Derek’s boots made a squish sound as he crossed the soaked ground nearer the car. Stiles let out a quick laugh, hesitant, trying to diffuse the strange intent look in Derek’s eyes, in the set of his jaw. Stiles was then really really aware that Derek and he were all alone out here and then Derek forgot all about personal space. He crowded close and all Stiles was aware of was Derek Derek Derek. Pretty much business as usual.

Derek smelled nice. He was also warm. And his shirt was soft and Stiles was, okay, pretty fixed on the whole closeness thing. Normally there was death or anger being threatened for them to be this close. That was when Stiles’s natural ability to destroy any potential reasserted itself.

“Use your words, Derek. You can do it.” Stiles spluttered to a stop as Derek glared down at him. Or at him. They were much of a height for all that Derek always seemed bigger. Due to all the muscles. And possibly the alpha thing. Which was kinda a thing for Stiles too. And now he was talking very sternly to his dick. Pointlessly. Derek loomed closer, pressing Stiles back against the wet, slick car. Stiles heard his jaw click as he opened his mouth to speak again and couldn’t think of anything. Derek’s hand skimmed up over Stiles’s chest, barely touching, almost more of a suggestion of warmth than anything. The hand finished its journey by hovering over Stiles’s shoulder, fingertips curling inwards as if all Derek wanted to do was curve his hand around the back of Stiles’s neck, hold him close.

Stiles could only stare.

Derek stepped back, slowly disentangling himself. Before he could really think it through, Stiles had shot out a hand to grab Derek’s black shirt, pulling him close. “Ask me, for crying out loud. Just ask me.”

“Can I…?” Derek swallowed. This close, Stiles could see his throat working, see the rising panic in his eyes. “Can I touch you?”

“I was hoping for ‘can I fuck you,’ personally,” Stiles remarked as he tightened his grip on Derek’s t-shirt. He couldn’t quite get up the bravery to tug it up, tug it off. Derek did it for him, throwing it into the mud by the side of the car, crowding Stiles back against the hood in the same movement. Then there were hands on his skin, warm and surprisingly soft. Derek probably didn't use moisturizer. This was probably another werewolfy thing. 

"Stop thinking," Derek murmured as he brought his hands around to rest at the small of Stiles's back. Now his chest was pressed close to Stiles's, his lips moving closer to Stiles's ear. To Stiles's mouth. That definitely made him focus on the here and the now and the success of Operation Derek Deserves Kisses Because Jesus Have You Seen His Mouth. It tasted like warmth and wet (and a little like onions) and Stiles wasn't sure he could do much more than hold on tight and kiss back as hard as he could.

Derek's lips moved against his, soft and kinda demanding and possessive. Like he wanted to own Stiles's mouth. That was definitely a conversation for another time; Stiles was done talking. And thinking. And doing anything other than giving as good as he got. The wet car was hot against his bare back, the sun drying the water off. It was going to streak pretty badly but there was always more water and more soap suds. The chance of Derek losing control again was less certain.

Stiles couldn't help but open his mouth on a gasp, letting Derek's tongue slip inside, giving him room to suck Stiles's bottom lip between his teeth, letting him basically do everything he could to drive Stiles wild. Even the scratch of stubble against his skin was exciting. It was nothing like what he'd dreamed about and it completely was, all at the same time. This was probably going to move too fast, judging by the way Stiles was able to hook his fingers in the waistband of Derek's too tight jeans and haul him close.

Then Derek broke the kiss. "No, no, no, no, no. Don't stop!" The words were out before Stiles could censor them.

"Just let me–" Derek's voice was oddly soft, sweet. His eyes were dark, mesmerizing, but there was no flash of red, no hint of claws or teeth. This wasn't a werewolf thing. This was a Derek thing. Derek effortlessly bent and wrapped his arm around Stiles’s waist, hauling him up and laying him down gently on the hood. The hot metal was nice against his back, patches of soap suds, water soaking though the dry areas on his shorts. It didn’t seem to bother Derek who leaned over him, kissing him hard. Derek was panting now, breath coming in huge heaves of breath. Then he was gone and his hands were busy at Stiles’s zipper and that– 

Okay. So Stiles had thought about this a whole lot. And he had a whole variety of porn-inspired fantasies about this particular guy doing exactly what he seemed to be doing. But. Stiles had gone only so far with other people. It had pretty much been strictly above the belt area no matter how much Stiles had wanted it to go much, much further. And his wishes were _finally_ coming true it seemed. This was already way, way below. Derek wasn’t exactly gentle as he hauled Stiles’s shorts down and tugged his underwear down impatiently with something suspiciously like a snarl. He pulled off Stiles’s soaking sneakers and threw the shoes away too. And then Stiles was naked and outside and spread over Derek’s car and it was like he was this whole other person who did things like this. Who allowed… Fuck. He was going to beg. He could already feel the words crowding on the tip of his tongue.

Before he could speak, Derek drew in a deep breath and looked Stiles straight in the eyes. “Can I suck you? Please?” Derek was now apparently taking the whole idea of words to heart and there was not a better time for him to have learned his lesson.

“Yes.” There might have been a slight hint of impatience. “Your mouth…” Stiles watched as Derek lowered himself over, grabbing the base of Stiles’s dick to hold it steady while he wrapped said mouth around it. This was a million times better than Stiles could have ever imagined. How did people live without blow jobs? Derek hollowed his cheeks, sucked the head hard and Stiles did not know where to put his hands. He settled for resting one on the back of Derek’s hair and trying to force the other into his own mouth. The noises were just involuntarily spilling from his throat, a stream of moans and groans impossible to stop. Derek moaned around his dick, just a little, and moved his hand in concert with his mouth and Stiles could feel his orgasm barrelling towards him, unstoppable. He used the hand in Derek’s hair to tug, to pull at him, try to offer some kind of warning. That was what the how-to guides had said to do. Warn a guy. Derek didn’t want to be warned. Instead his head ducked down even further and Stiles couldn’t hold back, jack-knifing up off the car as Derek swallowed around him.

He was in a daze as he lay back down, feeling the aftershocks run from the tips of his fingers to the very points of his toes to the top of his head, up and down and around and around. It was this intense feeling of well-being and satisfaction and all good things. Derek’s mouth made this incredible slurping sound as he pulled off, ran his hand over his mouth. Now that wasn’t good. Stiles pushed himself up – glad Derek caught him when he started to slide on a wet patch – and pressed himself up against Derek. He wanted to kiss, to taste what he and Derek all mingled together was like. Derek seemed into the idea, pulling Stiles close. Stiles wrapped his legs around Derek’s waist, not letting him go. It wasn’t entirely comfortable but Stiles felt so damn fucking good that he didn’t care. He was also vaguely aware of the fact that Derek must be very uncomfortable too, judging by the bulge distorting the front of his pants.

That Stiles basically had permission to touch.

He just went for it. No use beating around the bush. Not that there was bush. Ummm. Derek’s cock was red, warmer than the rest of him. Kinda slick from the precome gathered on the tip and inside his… jeans. No underwear. Which was insanitary. Also hot. Yeah. More hot than anything. And Stiles was allowed to touch. Which he did, both hands wrapped around, all that soft skin his to stroke and fondle and he dropped a hand to cup Derek’s balls and they felt a little weird and kinda like his and it was allowed. He could touch. Stiles was obviously not getting over this any time soon as he mouthed at Derek’s jawline. And then there was… Stiles shoved Derek’s jeans down with his heels, his calves. They didn’t get much further than his thighs but it didn’t matter. Stiles could span Derek’s ass, muscles taut, with the palm of his hand. He could bounce a nickel off that ass. Maybe he could do other things too… If they did this again. Which would be, you know, nice. 

And then he was being lifted off the hood. Stiles brought his feet down and slipped in the mud beside the car and he clung to Derek’s biceps. His ass was kinda out there but Stiles wasn’t quite ready to stop. His dick had already begun to perk up again what with Derek continuing to be hot and turned on and then Derek turned them until he was the one perched on the hood, drawing Stiles over him. Once all the touching and arranging and kissing settled down, Stiles was sprawled across Derek, thighs bracketing his hips. His hands were buried in Derek’s hair. He was basically just flying on instinct now.

Derek’s cock slipped against his, hard and eager. Stiles leaned up on one elbow. He felt kinda more in control like this. He could work a hand between them and pin their dicks together and roll his hand up and down. It was even better when Derek folded his hand over his. An idle hope that they never ever stop kissing passed through Stiles’s mind. Like, seriously. It was as if their mouths were just made for each other and when Stiles pulled back just to drag in some air, Derek’s mouth was raw red and puffy and _he made it that way_. The feeling of control and power and everything was heady and rushed him towards his second orgasm in twenty minutes. Derek was falling apart under him, his unoccupied hand spread wide on Stiles’s back, one fingertip trailing down low, dipping into the cleft of Stiles’s ass. It was making a promise that this wasn’t a one-time deal.

That very thought, as much as the overload of Derek and touch and kisses and all that naked skin, made Stiles come, hard and sudden. He gasped words that only half made sense into Derek’s mouth, hoping he wasn’t embarrassing himself. Derek held him close, moving Stiles’s hand until he came too. Derek muttered one word, low and on an exhale, that Stiles took a moment to unpick. Then he realised what it was.

His name. Derek had whispered his name as he came.

They lay there, sprawled out on the hood in the open air, lazily trading kisses and waiting for each other to make a move, to say something. Stiles couldn’t stop touching, hands petting at any skin he could reach. Derek seemed similarly focused, hands roaming up and down Stiles’s back. Eventually Stiles became aware he was probably burning up in the sun, not to mention being all sticky and kinda gross. He half crawled, half slithered off Derek until he was standing beside the car, toes squelching in the mud beside it. Derek followed him to his feet, hiking up his pants but leaving them unzipped. It was a good look on him, hair all askew and sweat-slicked. Stiles would’ve liked to admire it except for the fact he was feeling a little exposed. He grabbed his shorts off the ground, made a face at the stains and pulled them up. His t-shirt was little more than a slimy pile on the ground.

Derek held out his hand and Stiles looked at it for a moment before he realized what he was supposed to do. He took it and let Derek drag him back to the house.

“I don’t suppose this gets me out of washing your car, right?” Stiles nearly slammed into Derek’s back as he stopped suddenly and craned his neck round to look at Stiles again. A wicked grin crossed his face, one that sent another shiver of anticipation down Stiles’s spine. He was so fucked.

“I say we make Scott finish it off.” Derek finished pulling Stiles into the house, steering him up the stairs.

“Won’t he…?” Stiles suddenly understood the amused look on Derek’s face. Scott would be able to smell exactly what he was washing off the car. It felt like revenge and recompense and a whole host of favors being paid back all at once. And then Stiles watched the careless shift of Derek’s shoulders, the way his skin gleamed in the late afternoon light spilling through the open door. Maybe he owed Scott a little leeway after all. Derek kissed him, soft and possessive. The car could wait.


End file.
